


By Morning Light

by elizajane



Series: Ordinary Things [6]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane
Summary: If the universe is going to give him this, Dustin sure as hell doesn't want to miss a single moment by sleeping through it.Takes place immediately afterWriting Letters.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Dustin Henderson
Series: Ordinary Things [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079279
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	By Morning Light

Dustin lies in the dark of Steve’s bedroom staring up at the shadowy, shifting patterns of light on the ceiling from the parking lot outside and listening to the muffled sounds of residents in the laundry room. Somewhere above them the door buzzer sounds, then sounds again: a drunk who’s forgotten their keys or a late-night visitor. Not unlike a dorm, he thinks. Against him, in easy sleep, Steve snuggles closer, his breath tickling Dustin’s neck.

Dustin’s physically tired -- it’s been a long three months of summer semester coursework combined with work at the library, then the move home to his mom’s for the semester of student teaching -- but in contrast to Steve he’s wide awake. He’s sated from his orgasm, sure, yet also buzzing from the incredible high of being in _Steve Harrington's bed_. Of being _naked_ under the sleep-heavy, insistently _there_ weight of Steve who was now sniffling slightly against Dustin's shoulder, and drooling a damp spot on the edge of Dustin's pillow.

If the universe is going to give him this, Dustin sure as hell doesn't want to miss a single moment by sleeping through it.

Instead, he cradles Steve against his body with all of the gentleness Steve deserves, but would never ask for, and thinks about the many ways he fantasized about a night like this. About mutual confessions, about first kisses, about how he much wanted to touch Steve and have Steve touch him back. How he had wanted to be _wanted_ by Steve. He remembers lying awake on Steve’s futon, eighteen months ago, excruciatingly aware of Steve down the hall. Aware of how close he was to Steve’s warmth and attention and ability to make things _happen_. He’d ached, then, with how much he’d wanted Steve to come back to the living room, maybe drop down on his knees so they were at eye level, and whisper that Dustin was too far away out here. _It’ll be warmer in the bedroom; c’mon, there’s room for us both in my bed._ He thinks of that brief moment at the Sabbath concert, crushed back against Steve’s chest in the press of fans, the music overwhelming anything they might try to say in words, the feeling Steve’s hands on his hips, anchoring him, how he’d turned to look over his shoulder and mouth _thank you_ , how for a split second he'd thought: _Steve’s going to kiss me_.

It had been absurdly public -- even the memory sets Dustin’s heart racing -- and shockingly intimate at the same time. A moment he hadn’t dared trust they truly shared, except in his own longing fantasies, and now knows they did. Knows that Steve had heard the things Dustin wasn't brave enough to say aloud. That he had things he wasn’t brave enough to say himself -- or that he had only said in those damn letters, written and kept. Now he knows he wasn’t the only one wishing for courage to break the silence, wishing for some certainty that what he wanted was wanted in return.

Dustin's fantasies had always blurred after the moment of a first kiss, first touch, first confession. He'd pictured firsts, not seconds, not thirds, not how fucking raw and real and _good_ holding Steve in his shitty cave of an apartment actually feels. He'd imagined suavity and bluster where Steve was fumblingly inexperienced and shockingly willing to let Dustin see and hear how bewildered and eager he was. How _all in_. For _Dustin_. It's ... a lot.

Steve murmurs and startles a little his sleep, rolling over and pulling a substantial amount of the blankets with him. Dustin rolls, too, following Steve's warmth and the soft, pale planes of his back and shoulders. When they're resettled he finds, disconcertingly, that he fits comfortably against Steve's back, knees tucked up under his thighs, dick pressed against Steve's still-naked ass in a way that faintly -- very faintly: it's been a _long_ day -- makes him want rock forward for _more_ and at the same time just … fits. Like he's been waiting his whole life to slide up behind Steve Harrington, naked, in bed, for a cuddle.

Eventually he drifts into a light sleep, aware even at rest of the way their bodies shift and shift again in the dark and gradually the subtle lightening of the dark and the faint noises in the building around them that signal dawn: somewhere above them a shower turned on, a door slammed, a car engine in the lot outside revving up.

He swims back to fuller consciousness needing a piss. With a sigh he fumbles his way out from the tangle of sheets, makes his way to the bathroom, and returns. In his absence, Steve has rolled over onto his back, hair messy against the pillows, bare chest visible in the dim light above the twist of bedclothes. Dustin pauses at the side of the bed, feeling suddenly awkward. He glances around at the clothes they'd left scattered across the floor. His boxers must be--

"... you have somewhere you need to be?" The question is just slightly guarded. Wary. As if Steve expects Dustin to come up with a reason he needs to slip away before sunrise.

Dustin shakes his head.

"Then get your ass back in bed."

Dustin slides back under the blankets, facing Steve, and Steve rolls forward to meet him. He reaches out to smooth a hand down Dustin's side beneath the sheets, coming to rest on the curve of Dustin’s hip. Dustin can feel the heat from Steve’s body but apart from his palm on Dustin’s hip Steve doesn’t shift to get closer.

"Sleep okay?"

Dustin shrugs, then nods against the pillows. "You know. Unfamiliar place. Lights. Noises. But -- uh -- you were here." He pauses, reaches out to brush Steve's hair out of his eyes. "I didn't think --"

Steve just watches him. _Listening._ Dustin swallows. "I didn't know you wanted this. Didn't think I'd ever get a chance to --"

Steve pushes at Dustin’s hip, gently, urging him onto his back, then drags his sleep-warm hand over the swell of Dustin's belly. It's a warm caress, followed by a push of fingers into the dark curls that trail down from his belly button. Dustin lifts up into Steve's palm, without premeditation, a plant seeking the sun. A tiny sound escapes him, half relief, half a plea for more. Steve grins.

"I've thought about this," Steve leans close to whisper against Dustin's neck, nosing in below his ear. "A lot."

"Yeah?" Now that Steve is speaking, Dustin doesn’t want him to stop.

"Oh yeah," Steve agrees, warm fingers sliding around Dustin's growing erection, obliging and tracing lower with the tips of is fingers when Dustin spreads his legs and pushes again into Steve’s touch seeking more contact. Dustin can't quite accept that Steve is holding his balls without a hint of hesitation, brushing his thumb up and down along the underside of Dustin’s dick, watching Dustin’s face as he does it, studying him in the morning shadows, like it matters how Dustin feels about every movement.

Steve _wants_ him. Has thought about wanting him. _A lot. Ohgod ohgod ohgodohgodOHGOD_ how will he ever feel chill about that? Never.

“Dust--” Steve leans up over him as he’s stroking, dragging his lips across Dustin’s cheek until he finds his lips and they’re kissing again like they had the night before, tasting each other, lips slightly chapped and breath slightly sour but somehow better because of it -- details that remind Dustin this is real, not a fantasy, and that Steve wants _him_ not some imaginary version of him. That Steve doesn’t regret what they did last night, that he wants this with Dustin in the light of a Friday morning not just in the fuzzy soft focus light of a late Thursday night after three beers.

Dustin manages to free a hand from the sheets and slide his palm around to the back of Steve’s neck where he can push his fingers into Steve’s hair. He hangs on, stroking with his thumb behind Steve’s ear, tugging just a little with his fingers at the short curls at Steve’s nape for the soft needy sounds this encourages Steve to pant against his mouth. He whimpers back, pushing closer. He wants more of Steve’s weight, wants to feel Steve’s dick hot against his own, feel the slick and sweat of their bodies blur together. Everything feels tight and hot and urgent and wonderful and Steve doesn’t seem any more cool and collected about it than Dustin is, hips stuttering awkwardly against Dustin's side, making hungry little sounds that are going to fuel every orgasm Dustin has for months to come.

"Steve," he manages, panting against Steve’s mouth, not even sure what he's trying to say. "Steve, I'm--"

"God, you're fucking beautiful," Steve gasps back, like Dustin is precious to behold, and that's it, Dustin's coming, orgasm pulling everything impossibly tight and then spilling between them hot and shivering, nipping at Steve's lip for the almost-pain of Steve's hand, slower now, dragging the last of the orgasm out of him. Dustin shakes in his arms, fighting not to pull away and trembling to get closer and _God_ that he gets to have this.

"Dust, can I --" Steve's already moving against him, and Jesus, does he think he needs to _ask_? Dustin doesn't have a whole lot to give in the moment but manages to shift just enough that Steve has a good angle and: "Here," he says. "Here." And Steve finds a rhythm against the hot, slick skin of Dustin's hip and just as Dustin registers it _as_ a rhythm Steve’s coming with a gasp of surprise against Dustin's neck and fingers digging what will surely be bruises into the flesh of Dustin's hip.

“... that was okay?” Steve asks, into the silence that follows. Dustin huffs out a laugh. He rolls his head against the pillow to make sure Steve can see his expression.

"Yeah. So much more than okay. I'll write you a letter about it. How's that sound?"

Steve snorts. And just then, the radio clicks on. “Shit. I gotta get ready for work.” Steve groans and rolls over to smack his hand on the snooze button. "What would you say to breakfast at IHOP?"

Dustin smiles up at the ceiling. "Yeah. Yeah, breakfast sounds awesome."


End file.
